Dark Wings
by dark wings alias raat ke rani
Summary: My version of Brad's childhood.... and it's just a coincidence that the title is also used as my name.


Dark Wings  
By: secret_folder@hotmail.com  
  
First of all, I don't own the character Brad Crawford and the other Weiss Kreuz characters. Wish I had…. they belong to Koyasu Takehito/Project Weiß/Tsuchiya Kyouko. And let them be that way.

And I must say, that this is a different story about Brad's past. I have read quite many Weiss fanfics, but I've never come across any like this, so I guess the idea is original – well I haven't read all the thousands of them. Basically, I do not agree with some versions (or is it the original one?) which say that Brad was a professional boxer. I can't imagine Brad wearing a sign saying "I wrestle for food!" somewhere on the street - well, or so something like that…. Nope. He must have been of good blood, good economy, good education and so on.   
  
Well, there might be a continuation of this story, but I'm not sure yet... the rest seems to be history.

By the way, the story was inspired by the first chapter of one of my favorite song (you see that from my nick-name) which goes like _Why was I one of the chosen one, until the light I could not see. The magic and the strength of my power, it was beyond my wildest dream...._ This is not a songfic, though....

Oh and some other copyrights to write…..  
-- "Dark Wings" is owned by a Dutch band called Within Temptation from the album Mother Earth  
-- "Hijo de la Luna" is owned by Meccano and the lyrics written taken from a Valensia fanpage  
-- "Believe" is owned by the prog-met band Shadow Gallery from their second album Tyranny  
-- All the Italian speech were stolen from some easy-way-to-speak kind of book by Herpinus Simanjuntak.  
Spare me if I make mistakes in German. I'm still learning....  
  
OK… enjoy this…. Please review and tell me if suits your taste….   
  
Chapter I  
  


_Who would be able to foretell the secrets of the future?  
Who would have guessed that life could be so mysterious?  
Who would be able to unfold the mysteries?  
Who would be able to change the future but those who already unfold them?  
Who would have guessed…?  
Who…?  
Perhaps only the oracle could….  
_

  
"Your son is very talented, Mrs. Crawford," said the blond woman at the table. She looked down at the black haired child who sat beside his mother. His mother too got raven hair, and it curled down to her shoulder. Gypsy raven hair, that was how it was called. "He could go to the special class if you want him too. He would waste himself being put in regular class."

Nera Crawford nodded. "How about it, Bradley? Would you like to go to special class?" She asked. She was afraid that she had been called because her son had made trouble at school. But it turned out that what she was afraid of didn't come true. Instead, her son was permitted to go to special class.

Brad looked up to his mother. He was no more than seven and he did not really understand what special class meant. The word "special" sounded good for him because his parents always praised him as something special. Special gift. So he nodded and said yes. His black eyes seemed sparkle. "But what is special class?" he asked rather curiously.

Miss Hannah, his teacher, smiled. She explained that special classes were organized for the gifted. Meaning that only those who could learn faster than the others were permitted to attend such class. And there were only a little number of children could attend special class each year. And that meant Brad was very special for children of his age.

"I sometimes think he has already known the answers even before I ask the question." Miss Hannah said amidst her giggles. She thought it was ridiculous.

"Oh, he has." Nera smiled politely. "He really has." She stroked her hand over her son's raven hair, short and neat. She liked him that way. Neat. Elegant. Dignified.

  
"We have to celebrate this," said the raven haired woman to her son. She was clad in her black dress. Black as her hair. She put her son on the kitchen table and put the stereo set on. She turned up the volume and from the speaker came music. The music that made your heart beats through the drums and tambourines. The music that made your feet move themselves to the rhythm. 

And she started to dance. She tiptoed and turned around and jumped and tiptoed again. Her hair went up and down as the music flowed. It was like a pair of dark wings spreading on her back. Her body was slender and tall. She was like a dark angel coming from the sky. 

"Come and join me, Bradley," the mother called. And little Brad climbed down the chair to join her dancing. He was fond of dancing, especially when her mother asked him to join in her dance. He liked watching the black hair moving as a pair of black wings reaching for the sky. He liked his mother so much. He loved his mother so much. And a pair of dark wings on her back. "Your father would be very happy to hear this."

  
_But who would have known when the wheel turned? Perhaps only the oracle knew…._

  
Little Brad woke up sweating from his dream. He had seen a sequence of sight, but he could not recall much. He could not put them in order. He could not… no, he did not want to remember.

Blood everywhere but nobody was there. He saw himself at the corner, crying to nothing. Because there was nothing at all. And then he saw his mother. Her black wings were ripped down. Her marble skin turned dark red from blood. He called for her but she didn't answer. He called for his father but he didn't come. He was not there. He would not be there. He had been gone.

He sobbed in the darkness until he went back to sleep. 

  
The next morning he woke up from a cry downstairs. He hurried down to see what was going on, but the he couldn't understand what he saw. His father was taken away by two police officers. His mother was crying. She begged them not to take her husband. He had not done anything wrong. He had been cheated by his partners. He had been innocent. But the police officers ignored her and kept moving. 

The door closed. Slammed at her face. And she leaned to the door. Still crying. Begging. Asking anyone to hear her sayings. Her husband was a good man. She knew it by her heart. He was innocent. He wouldn't even hurt a fly. He would not fake financial reports, nor even to think about it. He was cheated. He had to be!

Brad walked towards his mother. "Mommy," he said slowly, "What happened?" He was afraid. He was very afraid.

"Brad…." His mother's voice faltered through her cry. She reached for him and held him close in her arms. She called her husband over and over again. 

"What happened, Mommy?"

But her mother didn't reply his question. Instead she asked him between her sobs, "Why didn't I notice the warnings? Why didn't you see that this was going to happen? If we have seen the warning, we could have gone away…. But why, Bradley? Why?"

He could not answer. 

They had moved to a smaller flat somewhere in the darker part from their comfortable apartment in Manhattan. Only he and his mother. She hardly danced now. And he had not seen those wings spreading ever since. And soon Brad learned from the hush of people that his father had done something bad. Jails were meant for bad guys. And his father stayed in jail. He failed the trials. 

He used to love his school, but now he preferred to stay away. It was not interesting anymore. Nobody greeted him good morning in the corridors. They all wanted to be away from him. After all, his father was a bad guy and he was jailed. Even Miss Hannah seemed to grow cold on him. Nobody was nice to him anymore. Not even his mother.

She left him all alone while she was working and she kept busy herself smoking, drinking and crying at night. She ignored him. She never praised him special anymore. She never kissed him anymore. Never caress him. Not even talk to him. He reminded her too much of her husband. He looked too much like her husband, except for the color of those raven eyes and hair. It hurt her too much just to look at him.

"Mommy, why do you still cry for him?" Brad asked one midnight as she came through the door. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Only God knew if it were for the bottles or the cries. "He will never come back. Daddy had left us. I hate him."

She looked down at him with her eyes wide open. Raven eyes blazing with fire. "Don't talk about your father that way!" she yelled at him.

"They said he had done something bad." Brad insisted, "I heard the neighbors talking and people at school too. He is a bad guy. Why do you cry for a bad guy? He doesn't deserve it!"

Just as suddenly Brad felt his cheek burning. She slapped him.

"You have no right calling him guilty. He is not. He was set up. What do you know about it? Tell me, Bradley, what do you know?"

Brad felt a sudden burst in his chest. He screamed, "I hate daddy and I hate you too! I hate you both!" He jerked and ran through the door. He ran to the city lights. To the fake stars glimmering from the high rise buildings, the skyscrapers of the big apple. He ignored his mother's call and kept running. He hated them. They had abandoned him. 

He kept running until his legs hurt and he stopped controlling his unsteady breath. He did not know where he was, but he did not care at all. He sat down in the alley. The city was still busy. Everyone cared only for their own business. The cars were buzzing past him. They all ignored him. They never cared at all.

"Are you all right, Kid?" asked a homeless passing by. 

But Brad chose to ignore him. He could not hear the man with all of the visions and voices in his head. It was like watching TV, but the pictures were not in correct order. They were like bits of pieces scattered on the floor. And there were voices too. Background voices of the visions. But they were far away. Almost unheard.

"Weirdo," sighed the homeless and he walked on.

The visions came closer. It had been blurred but now it came to contrast. He saw his mother crying, calling his name. Murmuring something he could not understand. And the vision moved to blood. Dripping. Drip. Drip. Drip. And a clatter of metal falling on hard floor. A knife.

He snapped from his visions. "Mother!" He cried as he rushed back home. 

The flat was quiet as graveyard. The corridor was dim. He slowly walked to his door. Trembling and shaking he opened the door. The living room was silent. Nobody was there. 

"Mommy," he called with his trembling little voice. But no answer came.

As he went closer to the kitchen his feet felt like stepping on sticky liquid. He looked down and he saw the parquet floor was covered with dark red. "Mommy," he kept on calling, but his voice faltered as he saw his mother lying on the kitchen floor. Her hair was everywhere. Her wings were ripped apart. Her skin was all red with blood. Not far from her lay a knife. All stained with blood. She had cut herself on her throat. She had died.

"Mommy?" But he did not dare to move closer. He drew himself to the corner. "Daddy?" He called. But nobody was there. Nobody.  
  
  
  
Chapter II  
  


_Y en las noches  
Que haya luna llena  
Será porque el niño  
Esté der buenas.  
Y si el niño llora  
Menguará la luna  
Para hacerle una cuna.  
Y si el niño llora  
Menguará la luna  
Para hacerle una cuna.  
  
-"Hijo de la Luna" by Meccano  
_

  
He kept everything to his own. His memories. His visions. He did not want to share anything with anyone. He believed in no one. Not his father. Not his mother. Perhaps not even himself. 

After his mother committed suicide almost a year ago, he lived in orphanage, sharing room with nine other children. He never talked to them. He chose to be silent. And nobody bothered him. Nobody cared whether he existed or not. Sometimes he was taken by families, but he was always returned to the orphanage. They said he was all too silent. And odd.

He only liked to stare at the sky at night to the pale blue moon. Holding a wooden cigar box in his arms, a small remain of his family; his mother's diary, an old Spanish cassette, an unopened envelope from his father's attorney, and a photograph of he, his father and mother on his seventh birthday party. That was the last birthday party he had and he was now turning eight.

He wanted to cry sometimes when he remembered those beautiful black wings. But he couldn't. He wanted to dance, but his body had stiffed. His legs would not move. His ears could not hear any sound but the lullaby of the moon that befriended him at nights. He often slept by the window.

He kept on seeing visions, something his mother once called as a gift. And a gift should be kept safe forever. He never told anyone about the visions. He did not even tell the moon.

  
"The moon is beautiful," someone said from behind him one night. Brad turned his head and saw a dark figure. A woman was hooded by darkness. It was a rule that all lamps had to go out after ten. He had lost the track of time, but it must be several minutes past midnight.

Brad nodded.

"Do you know a song about the moon and her son?" she asked as she walked closer. She hummed the tune and then she said after half finishing her song, "The moon cradle her son to sleep at night."

Brad looked up to her. She was young. Her hair was black. And it was even darker with all the darkness that surrounded her. The black hair went down to her hips. Down straight to her hips. He never saw her in that orphanage, but it could be that he never noticed her.

She stroked her fingers through the child's hair. "Poor child," she whispered. She sat down at the window sill and drew him to her breasts. "You can not sleep."

Brad stayed silent. He let the woman caress him. He let himself felt again the sensation he had with his mother. Long ago. Very long ago, it seemed. The memory had started to blur. He'd let everything go to her. But he still could not cry.

"Where are your parents, child?" she asked.

"Gone," he murmured.

"I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry. It had already written, they said."

"Had it?"

But Brad went back to his silence.

"What is it in your hand?"

"My memory."

"You keep your memory there?"

"So that they will not wash off."

"Can I see them?"

Brad shook his head and fell back to silence. He dozed off by the beating of her heart.

  
The woman happened to be a student who was working as social worker. Her name was Linda, it meant beautiful. She helped taking care of those little children. And she was the only one not ignoring little Brad. She smiled to him at the corridors or each time they bumped into each other. She visited him at night when he talked to the moon in his silence. And soon Brad became familiar with her. He answered her questions willingly. And he let her wrapped him close to her heart. 

"You remind me of my mother," little Brad said one midnight as they sat together by the window, watching nothing but the dead moon. The sky was all dark in violet twilights. The light of the city lights overcame the stars. He touched her hair, "She also had black hair. She liked to call it Gypsy hair." 

She laughed a little. "Gypsies can read the future," she said. 

"She could."

Did she see her death too? It was the next question, but it was never spoken for the answer came sooner than expected.

"She didn't. I did."

The woman gasped. She thought she had mistakenly heard the answer. "Can you see the future?" she asked slowly.

"Sometimes."

_Children imagination...._

"It's good then, you can stop bad things from happening to you."

"It had been written, they all said."

She jerked him a further so she could see into his eyes. Raven eyes met olive. "The future is not written, Brad. We have to make them."

"It was written in folded pieces of paper and we live by opening the folds."

"But there are differences when we have choices. And each step that we take, we are offered with thousands of choices, Brad, and our future is ours to decide. Just like the way we decide our choices."

"The one we decide to choose is already written too."

"No Brad, you are wrong."

The little boy turned his sight away to the empty sky. The moon was not there to caress him. She was gone and hiding, but she would come back later, unlike his father and mother. How he'd love to believe in her.

  
"So, what is in the box?" she asked about a fortnight after, "Can I see that?"

Brad looked down to the cigar box on his lap. The memories would be gone anyway, replaced by new ones. So he decided to give the box to her.

"Are they your parents?" she asked, gestured to the small photograph.

Brad nodded. 

She took the cassette and studied it. "Meccano? I like them. Do you like them?" She humed a piece of the lyrics, "Y en las noches Que haya luna llena Será porque el niño Esté der buenas.Y si el niño llora Menguará la luna Para hacerle una cuna.Y si el niño llora Menguará la luna. Para hacerle una cuna."

"Mommy liked them."

"Can I look at the book?"

Brad nodded.

She opened it up and realized that it was a diary of a woman. Must be Brad's mother's, she thought. She scanned through every page and smiled bitterly. She put down the book to its place and kissed Brad slowly on his forehead. "I'm sorry. I'm very sorry."

"No need to be sorry. It had been written."

She sighed, "We are the ones who write them."

Brad kept silent.

Then her attention was drawn to the envelope. She took it. "You have never opened it?"

"I don't want to."

"Can I open it?"

He buried his face for a little while, thinking, trying to decide. "Yes," he finally said.

  
She opened the envelope and rolled out a piece of paper followed with a mini disc. She took the note first. It was from the child's father. "The truth will unfold as you hold this paper," she read, "It's from your father."  
"It arrived the next morning my mother died."

She gasped as she realized what could be in her hand. "Wait here, Brad," I'll be back in seconds." She promised as she zoomed herself in the dark of the room and to the corridor, to somewhere in the building. Not long after he heard her footsteps fast through the dark. She had tried to keep the tapping voice slow, but it sounded all too clear in that quiet night.

She had her laptop in her hand and she started to work over the disc. "We hold the truth in our hands," she said in her whispers. She smiled.

Brad looked at her blindly. He did not know what she meant.

  
Two weeks later he was taken away by her to a big building. It was one of the skyscrapers of New York City. He did not know where exactly, but it was there. She took him up to the top floor, through a hall and stopped at a secretary desk somewhere on that floor. "Can I see Mr. Waynes?" she asked to the woman who sat politely at the table.

"Do you have any appointment?" she asked, perhaps too politely.

"Just ask him if the name Crawford means anything to him," she said plainly.

The secretary did what she asked for. Finally she said, "He is ready for you, Ma'am. His office is down that corridor," she gestured, "You will see his name on the door."

"Thank you."

She hurried to that office with little Brad's hand in hers. She walked in as soon as she was asked by a bass voice from behind the door.

"Mrs. Crawford, what a pleasant surprise," Mr. Waynes said from his expensive look office chair. He had mistaken her by her long raven hair.

"I am not Mrs. Crawford. My name is not important." She let Brad's hand go and stepped forward. She handed a minidisk. "I only wanted to give you this."

"And what is this?" Mr. Waynes took the disc.

"Just see." Linda said firmly. "Don't worry if you want to break it, I still have several copies out of it. Go on, just check it out."

The man turned white as he read the information in the minidisk. "What do you want?"

"It's basically easy," said the woman. "Money."

Brad looked up. He didn't really understand what was going on, but he could chew it bit by bit. He stepped a bit away from Linda.

"Do you see this child, Mr. Waynes?" asked the woman as she reached her hand to Brad and asked him to move forward. He did as she asked. "He has lost his father, his mother, and his life because of you. He has nothing!"

"And you use him to black mail me?"

"In some way, yes. But he gets his share as well."

"I'll call the police."

"Good, then I can tell them how you fake those financial reports."

Financial reports? Brad's mind swam to the past. His mother said something about financial reports that morning but he could not recall any more than that.

The man was shaking to hear her threat. "How much do you want?"

"Two thousand a month would be enough," she said. Cold and plain.

"What?! Two thousand?! Are you kidding? Bitch!"

"With your monthly income, along with those that you have faked, two thousand a month would mean nothing to you." She grinned. "But you have your choices, police or money. Easy to decide, isn't it?" She turned her body and headed to the door. She paused a while as she reached the door, "Or perhaps you would rather choose the last choice? Just remember this word, 'crucifixio'."

The man was shaking from fear to hear the last word. Whatever it was, it surely was a dead threat.

Chapter III  
  


_Sometimes this world is simply  
Trembling – crumbling  
Coming time to banish it for ever more  
For ever more  
The time for final judgment's close at hand  
Four horsemen mount on high  
Wake up the morning to the sound of children dying  
  
-"Believe" by Shadow Gallery  
_

  
He looked at his own reflection on the mirror, making sure that there were no flaws in his appearance. Neatly pressed shirt and neat blue jeans. Hair all raven, short and also neat. He pushed his glasses to its place. The glasses were oval and thin framed. Fourteen and well built. He was quite satisfied with his look. 

He stepped out of his room. Two men with black suits bowed to him. The word "crucifixio" turned out to be a real threat. Who would have guessed that Linda was a granddaughter of a mafia godfather? Who would have guessed? And now he was an adopted son of the godfather himself. 

And he had learned a lot of things in the last six years of his life. He learned how to defend himself. He learned how to use guns. He learned how to take orders for they were very hard on this. Those who didn't follow orders ended up dead, mostly by bullet. Not too much pain, but still they ended up dead. 

The godfather liked him very much. Especially his visions. Those visions helped him to prepare for many things. Ambush, researches, traitors, and all. There was only one thing that he kept only to himself, the way they all died. That, he would rather keep to himself.

"Buon giorno!(1)" Linda greeted him with a smile. She was sitting at the kitchen table, taking her breakfast. "You look nice this morning."

Brad was a little disappointed to hear that. He expected more, but his face kept calm. He had also learned how to hide his emotion. He took a glass of milk.

"All right then. You look special this morning," she said. "You know, I can't help thinking that you are really a natural born mafia, though you don't have Sicily blood."

Brad smirked. "I consider that as a praise."

"I miss your old self. You grow up too fast." She ducked her head as she moved her hand to stir her coffee.

"Seasons change, and so can I." 

She sighed as she recalled little Brad clinging to her breasts at night. Now the little child had almost fully grown to a man, if he had not already been one. She found no trace of his innocent childhood face. All had been washed away. She chose to make him that way. But still she thought that it was after all better than leaving him at the orphanage. The child deserved better than that, so she took her chance. 

His grandfather did not bother to spend any money for the child. She told him that she could get twenty thousand dollars a month for the child. And the old man loved the child at first sight. He had seen the potentials in that child, and he turned out to be right. The child mastered his martial arts lesson very fast. He could also learn Italian by listening. And those visions he said he had, those visions were his selling point for the old man. The old man liked the visions.

She glanced back to the child, as he would always be a little child for her. He was dark, perhaps of the Gypsy blood he inherited from his mother. He was tall for his age. And he looked handsome. Some men could be called beautiful, but this one surely couldn't. He was handsome. Very much good looking. Raven hair, raven eyes. Black beauty, if he had been a steed. And his taste for sex was good enough for her.

"I'm going to school," the raven haired said. Drawing her back to reality.

She nodded. "Be careful on your way," she whispered.

He nodded politely, as if to his superior. And she was. After all, he was only adopted.

  
He went through to his room after school. Walking past a row of rooms. And just a few doors before he reached his, he stopped at a door ajar. He saw a woman inside the room. Black hair down. Crying. He felt like he saw his mother crying again. Sobbing bitterly. 

"Che cosa c'è (2), Linda?" he asked as he slowly got in the room.

She shook her head. "Nothing."

"You don't cry for nothing." 

But she kept silent.

"Did anyone hurt you?" he asked, though he knew no one dared to do that here. Not in this house, at least.

She shook her head again.

He sat next to him. And the next moment she cried on her chest. "Uncle Lucca… Mr. Waynes…." 

"Mr. Waynes?" he whispered the name long forgotten. They never mentioned his name after they met him in his office. Six years ago. The money kept on flowing steady. And his business was still big. And after all, Brad's father would never come home. He committed suicide a few months after his wife, knowing that his raven angel had died and his son was taken away. 

She kept crying. 

He hushed her and tried to calm her down. "Shhh, it's OK."

She jerked back from his body. "What do you mean 'it's OK'? It's Uncle Lucca, Grandpa's heir. He's the one…." She sobbed, "He's the one who put your father in jail. Mr. Waynes laundries his money. And…." She sobbed again, "Mr. Waynes told him that I had threatened him. Uncle Lucca was very angry. He said I endangered the whole family!"

"Does it matter now?" He kept calm in the outside. Who would have guessed what was in the inside.

"It does! They will kill us, Brad! They will kill us!"

"Calm down, then."

"How?" She pulled a cigarette, put it clumsily in her mouth and nervously tried to light it. But it failed and failed again.

"Let me." Brad took the lighter and lit her cigarette. He saw a reflection of his mother in the woman in front of her. Hair down, crying, smoking. Just add a little alcohol, and curl on her hair and she turned to be the image of his mother. He pitied her. Why did mother have to die? Why did father have to die? But he loved her somehow, though he chose not to show it. Does she have to die too?

"Where did you keep the minidisk?" Brad asked suddenly.

"At the orphanage, at Sister Maria's. Why?"

"Let's take it." He pulled her out of her room.

"Are you crazy? Uncle Lucca would be furious if he found us!"

"Then we must not be found."

  
They slipped out of the house unnoticed and they left to the orphanage. Sister Maria herself opened the door for them. "Come in, my child," she said, gestured them inside the orphanage. And they followed her into her office.  
"What do you want, my child?" she asked in her calm and graceful voice. She turned aside to Brad. "Isn't he Brad Crawford you took?"

"The minidisk?" The nun asked. Turning her head a bit aside. "Oh yes, that minidisk," she said again and smiled apologetically, and then her voice turned harsh, "But in that case, I can't give it to you." She pulled out a gun and directed it towards them.

"Sister Maria!" Linda gasped.

"I'd better have two people down rather than seeing the whole orphanage to disappear. You grandfather, Linda, supports ninety percent of our needs." Her left hand touched the interphone button. "You can come in now, Mr. Grazioli."

"Where is the minidisk?" she determined herself to ask.

"In my hand, my child," said a low voice from the door. Lucca Grazioli was standing there. Gun in his hand, pointing towards them. His other hand was holding a minidisk. "Is this what you are looking for, my Linda?"

"It's such a pity," said another low voice. It was a voice from an old man, "My traitor is no other than my prescious granddaughter and my beloved adopted son." The owner of the voice walked slowly to the door, leaning on his staff. "Lucca, my son," he said as he reached the door.

"Yes, father?"

"Let me have the honor of giving the punishment."

"No, no, please don't do it here," asked Sister Maria, her voice trembled. "I don't want to disturb the children. They are taking their nap at the moment. A gunshot would frighten them." She begged.

The old man smiled at the nun. "All right then, let's kill these bastard somewhere else."

Brad smiled. This is the way they were going to die. They killed with bullet, they died by bullet. He jumped sideway to Sister Maria and took her gun by force. She was helpless. Soon she was down on the floor. She was knocked out.

The men shot blindly at him and Linda. The woman crawled to the back of the table to him.

"Give me your gun, Brad," she said. 

"Why?"

"Take the disc, take it to the police, or take it elsewhere you want. I'll back you up."

He paused. Looking at her. "If you really believe in what you said when I was a child, choose; stay here, back me up and die, or you could come out with me and in the end you might be alive."

"If I go out, will I not die?"

Brad shook his head. "I don't know. I can't see the things undecided." He gave another shot to the men.

"Then I will go with you."

Brad smiled, his eyes flickered. But not long after the light in his eyes failed. It's useless. You can't make things different even if you have the power to see through to the future. She's going to die anyway. In the hand of the same man. In the same way. At the same place. At the same time. He tried to keep his smile. 

But she saw it and she could feel it, by by the fail in his eyes, she knew her time was coming. "I believe in you now…. I love you, Brad…. Good luck," she said then almost apologetically.

And she suddenly jerked standing from behind the table and shot to the men. He hit the older man. But she got hit as well. And her body faltered to the ground. Dark wings ripped away from her back. She fell, trying to catch breath. 

"Go unfold… your paper…, Brad…. I have… no… more…."

Brad astounded at the scenes, both in his eyes and in his mind. 

"NOOOO!!!" He took the gun and jumped. He shot the man. He shot Uncle Lucca three times until his body fell to the ground. Blood spilled over the floor. Blood stained marble. Blood dripping. Drip. Drip. Drip. And blood brought back all his bitter memories. He screamed.  
  


_New York City,   
A gang of mafia was killed by a single man. Witness said a teenager, known as Brad Grazioli, formerly named Brad Crawford, who was no other than godfather Grazioli's own adopted son, came into the Grazioli mansion and brutally shot everything that move. It was counted that he had killed more than fifty man alone, whether by gun, blade, or empty handed…. _

  
„New York ist immer interessant, ja(3)?" One said.

The second one laughed, „Ja, ja. Und die Zeitung ist auch interessant. Ein Jung habe mehr als fünfzig Männer allein ergeschlagen! Interessant, oder?(4)"

The first one laughed as well. „Das Zentrum mag ihn. Er ist ein Orakel. Wir mussen ihn dort mitbringen und das ist das Kommando. Klar?(5)"

„Ja, klar. Keine Zeuge?(6)"

„Keine Zeuge.(7)"

  


-ENDE-  


  
Vom 3. bis 4. Februar 2003, durch die Nacht!!

(1) Good morning!  
(2) What happened?  
(3) New York is always interesting, right?  
(4) Yes, yes. And the paper is also interesting. A young man has killed more than 50 men by himself. Interesting, isn't it?  
(5) The central wants him. He is an oracle. We have to get him there and that's the command. Is that clear?  
(6) Yes, clear. No witness?  
(7) No witness.  
  
  
  



End file.
